The King is Dead
by valeriawyverstone
Summary: Oneshot  Post-war, Narcissa is stronger than most people think. Now if only she could stop losing those she loved... Draco/Ginny, Lucius/Molly W.  Non-DH compliant


It is indeed a strange thing to know, from the first day you open your eyes, that your entire life has been written for you. It is not entirely unpleasant, this knowledge, because it is all that you know. By the time you learn of other ways of life, it is too late- you are already condemned to it. You cannot fight it, and truly, you have little desire to. At least, that's the way it was for most of us.

Of course, there are always the exceptions to every rule. I, the patient child, never questioned how things were. I never sought to fight my parent's will; I was the obedient daughter. There had to be an obedient one among us, with the Black sisters being what they were. Bellatrix was like wildfire, destroying anything that dared cross her path. Andromeda, too, had her wild streak, though she was much quieter in her rebellion. And so, it was left to me to do what I could to maintain the family's honor and traditions.

Though I was the obedient daughter, I could not say the same for my betrothed. Though he was nearly ten years my senior, news of his exploits at Hogwarts were not lost to me. I heard of his many conquests through the admiring whispers of my male cousins. I witnessed the company he kept when he came home for winter balls. They were dark, moody type, who read books about dark magic and kept mostly to themselves.

Oh, you might say that we knew our place. We knew what we could and couldn't do, and where our limits were. But there are those like my husband, who strayed too far. He knew his limits, but as the sole heir to the Malfoy family name and fortune, he could push the envelope more than most. The first sign that he was going too far was the news that Lucius had been seen Molly Prewett two summers after graduating from Hogwarts. At the time, I thought little of it, having heard of many other women who had caught his passing fancy. Perhaps I had simply wanted to believe that everything would be fine, or that the affair wouldn't last. If that was the case, than I must blame my childish naïveté for such wishful thinking.

You must understand that betrothals within the Black family simply were not broken. It was not done, as a matter of principle, honor, and above all, tradition. Even Bellatrix, in the midst of her rebellion and fury, had not fought her engagement to Rodolphus. So when Lucius approached the elder Malfoy about changing brides, there was great uproar in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Prewett, he argued, was a pureblood, as his bride was supposed to be. She had been trained in some forms of etiquette and the basics of ballroom dancing, but had not received the proper upbringing that we had. In my eyes, she was no more fit to be his bride than the peacocks who strolled our lawns at noon.

Lucius' request went unquestionably unheeded. He was reprimanded for considering such a thing. His anger at being ignored was unsurpassed. Four days after his request, his father made up his mind to send him away to the countryside with Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. Nothing was said of what happened there, or how, or why. What we do know is that when Lucius came back he was a changed man. His thoughts were darker, his footsteps heavier, his voice quieter, and he withdrew into himself, until we could hardly know what he was thinking. It was only on our wedding night that I learned that it was that Fall when he took the Dark Mark.

Five years later, Lucius and I were married. It was not an unhappy wedding, nor a joyous occasion, but rather something that had to be done. My heart, I learned, was something that was to be broken again and again over the years, a fact I could not understand as a young bride. In time, I learned only to try to keep hope and to steel my heart against the perpetual disillusionment that came with our marriage. And yet, I could not bring myself to hate him for the love he denied me, or because he betrayed me with other women.

Molly Prewett's shadow loomed large over my relationship with Lucius, even after we married and she had given birth to her first three sons. By that time, she had married Arthur Weasley and cemented herself as a blood traitor. Lucius had frequent mood swings, unable to decide whether he wanted to continue his affair and "save" the treacherous woman, or whether he hated everything she was and everything she would become. His utter disdain for her poverty and lack of social status tortured him until he could no longer bear to carry on the affair. By then, she was heavily pregnant with Weasley's brats once again- this time, twins. She would never recover her figure after _that_ pregnancy, which I do believe was the final straw for Lucius.

By then, however, our marriage was beyond repair. There was little to be said or done, and though Draco came along shortly after, it was clear that now that a male heir had been produced, it was not necessary to have more children. For my part, I contented myself with raising my only son. At the time, there was little other solace to be found. God only knows what Lucius did on those dark nights when he didn't come home from the office, and it wouldn't do to seek support from the other society wives. And so, I spent my days in the garden with that brilliant angel of mine, thanking the heavens for every moment I spent with him.

I learned with time, though, that parents only borrow children. He was as much mine as Bella or Andy ever were, and I was loving him on borrowed time. When he was only eleven, I sent him away, kissing the top of his head so he would not see the tears in my eyes. He was so innocent then, and so brave, trying to appear aloof and confident when I knew that he had been crying the night before, begging me to be the one to take him to the platform. I shall never, as long as I live, forget the way his hand pressed up against the glass of the compartment, the wide look in his eyes, the way he shouted something that was lost in the whistle of the train- words that were lost to the wind and the billowing smoke that were left in his wake.

The winter came and went, and then the spring, and then summer came. Draco never was truly the same after Hogwarts. In my heart, I felt that perhaps he blamed me for sheltering him so much as a child, or perhaps for the fact that he only ever knew his housemates from the balls we held at the Manor. For whatever reason, the time he spent at school distanced us, and though he never lost the high regard he held for me, his sweet smiles and childish attachment disappeared rapidly, leaving behind only distant respect. Between Hogwarts and the increasing hold that Lucius had on our son, I could feel him slipping more from my grasp everyday, until I was once again alone.

I am not, nor have I ever been, a needy woman. If anything, I am quite capable of providing for myself and I pride myself in my ability to not depend on others. Still, it is hard to lose your family to strangers who lure them away with wicked and twisted notions of power and freedom. I was determined that I would not lose Draco, too, but there was little I could do. The boy admired his father profoundly, though I cannot begin to fathom why. It seemed sometimes that the rougher the beatings and the harsher the punishments, the more Draco loved Lucius. Their relationship was a dark one, full of anger, hostility, and coldness. It is my belief that Draco had grown to be too much like his father to not want to be him. It was inevitable.

During the final battle, Draco and I were placed into protective custody. Out of what respect and love Draco still harbored for me, he put up little resistance to my request. His honor was wounded and he firmly believed that he should be fighting alongside his father, but I would not allow for this. If Lucius wanted to throw caution to the wind, that was fine with me. But to take my only son? That was another thing entirely.

Although the Ministry was none too pleased with our request, they complied, as I knew they would. The trouble with "good" people is that they believe that everyone else is good, and that people only need the right situation to show their goodness. Whether it was "good" to abstain from fighting for either side, I do not know. All I know is that I needed to protect my son and ensure that he had a future when the war ended. The trouble was, I did not account for what might happen during the war, or how the situation would affect him.

I must say that I never expected what resulted from the war. I do not mean that I expected Lucius to survive, nor did I truly ever expect the Dark Lord to win. What I mean is, I never expected Draco to change so much. War changes people, though, even if you _are _just a bystander. Draco mellowed out; he was angry at first, but then relented, and eventually came to assist the Ministry. He participated actively in the aftermath of the war, tending to the wounded and feeding the hungry masses, as if he had been born to be their savior. It seemed logical- the wizarding world had lost its Chosen One in the final battle, and needed a new darling to garner hope. It sickened me, seeing my lovely boy fill the shoes of a jaded, long-suffering half-blood who had never deserved the attention in the first place.

Somehow, Draco acclimated to his new role, and created a new life for himself. I did not ask to be part of his new world- nor any part of the new wizarding order. All I wanted was to retire to our house in the French countryside and live out my old age in peace. After all, a lady should be allowed some dignity. That was not what life had planned for me, though. I was to stand beside my son and watch him dally with blessed Potter's castoffs. To me, it was like watching a rare, beautiful animal be tamed and made to eat leftovers. Draco, however, had no objections.

Because of this, I should not have been surprised when he came home and announced his engagement to Ginevra Weasley. A pureblood, perhaps, but the daughter of my late husband's mistress, and a blood traitor to boot. This, I would not stand for. Apparently, though, there is no respect for elders in this new world order, and Draco told me that he was merely notifying me that there would be a wedding- and that I could show up whether I wanted to or not. The tart stood by his side the entire time, not speaking, but with a smirk painted on that common, freckled face. On the inside, I was screaming, pleading, _dying_… I could not, would not lose another man to a Weasley woman. My heart ached, and pain wracked my being, but I only nodded my head solemnly and wished them the best.

Draco turned to look at me then, two steps from the doorway, and for a second, I saw my child as he once was. It was the same look he had when he received his letter from Hogwarts. Slightly scared, apprehensive, but excited. He smiled broadly at me and said something, something which was lost to the wind and the cracking sound of disapparition. It was the last time that I ever saw him.

They say that pride goeth before the fall. Perhaps this is true for some. I am a Black, though, raised to be proud of my lineage and to be a strong woman. Perhaps Lucius was not strict enough with Draco; perhaps I was too lenient with him. Perhaps he would have flourished at Durmstrang and still be with us. For whatever the reason, Draco, _Draco Malfoy_, of all people, was the weakest link. A chain cannot continue with a weak link. Likewise, a family cannot go on when there is no pride and no honor. Tonight, Draco will be waiting at the end of an aisle, ready to marry the daughter of the woman who ruined my marriage. He will throw away centuries of purity and good breeding for a strumpet who said she helped save the world.

I will not stand by and see this. I will be at the ruins of Malfoy Manor, in the garden where I once played with my young son. I will walk over the burnt lawn where peacocks once strolled and horses once ran free. I will stand in the remnants of my parlor where I once served guests high tea. And I will go to what is left of my room, to the wrought iron bedframe that was once mine, and lay down for the final time. When I die, it shall be by my own hand, in my own home, on my own time. I will not see in this new world order and I will not see tradition die. In my final moments, I shall only see the stars in the sky through the holes in my roof, watching the lights go brighter while all else fades away. Guiding me home shall be the names of those I knew and loved best, and those I lost- my sweet Andromeda, my dear Uncle Orion, and my darling child Draconus.


End file.
